


Shore Leave: Jack

by cbrachyrhynchos



Series: Mass Effect 2: Shore Leave [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, ME2, Tattoo, melding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6934192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cbrachyrhynchos/pseuds/cbrachyrhynchos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack gets inked on shore leave. Middle of Mass Effect 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shore Leave: Jack

Jack shut off the holographic sign as she entered the shop and sat down on the overstuffed love seat opposite an Asari nursing a toddler. “Mannia, I need some ink.” 

“You could make an appointment like everyone else,” the artist chided gently. Jack gave her a forced smile. “But I can always make time. Hey kid!” the Artist shouted at a human leafing through an album of clip art, “We’re closed. Come back again tomorrow!”

Jack watched the kid as he left, “Isn’t he a bit young?”

“You were the same age when I first worked on you. If he ever makes up his mind, it will just be scratch work, not the real art, probably some old-Earth emblem he doesn’t fully understand. I might even have Sienn do it. Speaking of which, Sienn! Get off the extranet terminal and take care of … your sister. We’ll be in the private studio for a while.”

Mannia passed the toddler to a surly adolescent and led the way past the examination chairs and massage tables visible to the front of the store. They crouched through a maintenance tunnel that wound through the heart of Omega Station. The Asari pressed her thumb to a genetic lock, and opened the door to a chamber paneled in expensive imported wood. It contained a wooden bench, a dining table for two, a small kitchenette, an overstuffed couch, and a small bathroom partitioned by a curtain. The gravity was substantially lower than standard.

Jack immediately started undressing, only to be stopped by Mannia, “Jack, it’s been three years. I thought you were dead.”

“Purgatory had me on ice for a while, and then I was rescued. I can’t really talk about that.”

“Cerberus.”

“Fuck, how did you know? That cheerleader is just looking for an excuse to start something if it leaked from me.”

“Jack, their tag is on your jump suit.”

“Shit, I’m an idiot.”

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Mannia was soothing her own nerves as well as Jack’s. “Let me make you some tea. It’s been a few years, and let’s talk this out. What’s on your mind? I’ve not decided to do it yet.”

“I can’t really talk about it. It’s big and I don’t want to put you in danger.”

“Jack, dear. I put myself in danger when I first started working with you. I take confidentiality extremely seriously. You’re in one of the most secure rooms on Omega, and I protect client confidentiality with violence if I have to. I’ve killed to protect my more intimate clients. I’ve killed to protect you.”

Jack sat down and stared at her boots for a long moment. “Ok, so this guy busts me out from prison. Saves my fucking ass just as the whole prison ship was exploding. It’s a Cerberus ship but he’s not Cerberus, he’s not Alliance, or Citadel either. He’s fucking Commander Shepard.”

“You clearly admire him.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. He gets stuff done. He’s on a Cerberus ship but tells Cerberus to stuff it. And we’re fighting some really nasty alien shit, the kind of thing that makes Cerberus look like choir boys. This isn’t smash-and-grab piracy here, we’re big fucking heroes against big scary monsters. Fucking ugly things.”

“Do you have visual references I can work with?”

“Yeah, here.” Jack transferred a collection of files to Mannia’s slate, and they spent the next hour pouring over the images, Mannia furiously scribbled designs with an old-fashioned pen, looking up at Jack for her reactions. 

“Jack,” the artist said finally. “I don’t know if I should do this.”

“Fuck, I need some ink so bad I can feel it.”

“Then I suggest Bran down the street, I respect his work. And it would be better than some of your other choices you’ve added to your body. I can’t do this if you don’t tell me why you need it and what it means.”

“Manni, this is important. I don’t need scratchwork. I need you to do it. I need that whole voodoo melding art thing.”

“Which you’ll badmouth when we’re done. You know how this works, the sketches are just a start. The real image comes from the meld. And I can't do that if we can't be honest about it.”

“The collectors are taking entire colonies of people and stuffing them in coffins....”

“And you’re terrified you give a shit about it.” 

“Fuck!” Jack smashed the table between them, pulverizing her tea cup to dust against the floor. Mannia sipped her tea from the cup in her hand and carried it to the sink. Jack stood near the hatchway pounding her fist against the expensive wood paneling.

“Jack,” Mannia said approaching her but taking care not to touch. “Welcome to Matronhood.”

“Yeah, well I’m shit with children and relationships.” 

“When will you humans learn it’s not just about that? I can’t imagine you as a father, or a mother. Or rather, I can imagine why you shouldn’t be. Do you still want the tattoo, my friend?” 

“Yes, I do.”

The artist ran her fingers behind the angry biotic’s ear and whispered, “embrace eternity.” The initial melding was tearful and emotional. After, Mannia drew back far enough to put on the tattoo glove, and draw the images that formed in their shared minds. 

A few hours later, they lounged together on the couch, sipping from bottles of water. Jack used a hand mirror to look at the raised design that replaced an older piece of prison scratchwork. “I get the ship, it’s the Normandy, but what’s this other symbol?”

“It’s an Asari symbol worn by commandos facing death, not reckless mercenaries, but defenders, Matrons typically.”

Jack sat up suddenly, and reached for her shirt, “So you give it to the fucked up crazy chick.”

“I don’t give people art they don’t deserve. Perhaps a fucked-up crazy chick is just the weapon the Goddess needs against what you fight. But you get pissed off and smash things when I get into the mystical head-trip bullshit so I’ll just stop there.”

Jack bit back the first response, “Sorry, I... I, should go. I do like it.” Mannia blinked in surprise, Jack usually responded to the intimacy of the tattoo ritual by picking a fight and storming out. Her walls came down just long enough for the ink to go on. But Jack always came back for more work, days, weeks, or months later. 

“I better walk you out, some of those hatches open onto hard vacuum,” Mannia just belted on a simple bathrobe and led Jack out. Jack consented to the briefest of hugs in the lobby in parting. Sienn was playing with her younger sister on the floor. 

“Mother,” Sienn said when Jack was safely down the street. “Was that..?”

“Shush, you know I can’t talk about it.” Mannia knew that the deflection was as good as a confirmation to Sienn. They’d have to talk about the importance of secrets, sometime soon. “How was little Jaquelle while I was busy?”


End file.
